Surviving As The Villainess's Attendant

Alice throw the great sword towards Wampa.

More specificlly, at ground near the monster.

—BOOM!

The chamber trembled again as the Wampa lunged. His eyes, bloodshot and crazed, locked onto the sword embedded in the floor.

Valkrath.

Alice had thrown it—not at him, but at the ground.

The beast paused for the briefest of moments, confused by her action. His massive form hunched, one clawed hand hovering over the hilt. He didn't understand why she had let go. But in his mind, the purpose was clear: retrieve the sword. Reclaim what was lost.

A desperate hope shimmered in his eyes as he reached for the greatsword, as if touching it might restore something—someone—that was gone.

Alice waited.

Every muscle coiled.

Every heartbeat a countdown.

He didn't look back.

He didn't think to check where she had gone.

He only wanted Valkrath.

That was the moment she had waited for.

"You shouldn't take what is mine."

—SHLNK!

The rapier slipped into the gap between his thick fur and hardened flesh, driven with deadly precision. It pierced through sinew and buried itself deep into his shoulder.

A strangled growl left the Wampa's throat. His hand twitched away from Valkrath. His massive frame reeled, instinctively trying to turn—but he was too late.

Fletz—once the loyal guardian of the Draken line—stared down at the wound with wide, almost childlike disbelief.

His pristine white fur was now stained with a blossoming patch of red.

And Alice?

She didn't stop there.

He had overlooked a truth: Alice's weaponry didn't end with her greatsword.

The rapier had struck clean, but—

'Too shallow,' she thought, biting her lip.

Fast. Agile. Precise. But lacking the brutal impact of Valkrath. The blade hadn't sunk far enough. The muscle was too thick. The wound would slow him—but not stop him.

The Wampa roared again—

"PROVE IT!!!"

His massive body twisted toward her in rage, one arm swinging with brute force.

The gap was too narrow.

There was no time to dodge.

But Alice didn't intend to.

Despite the dire situation, a smile curled on her lips.

Not because she'd gone mad—but because she saw the person she needed most at that very moment.

Julies Evans.

Her servant.

He was behind the Wampa, silent as a shadow. No fanfare, no declaration. He simply appeared, as if the world had forgotten to notice him.

He moved like an assassin, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And now—it had come.

On Julies's head rested the Crown of Arclight, a long-lost relic once personally gifted to Alice's father by the Emperor himself.

His right hand was clad in the Titanfang Gauntlet, a relic even more powerful than the Gauntlet of the Bound Wolf that Alice had once recommended to him back in the second level of the relic vault.

Between his teeth, he chewed a Winterroot Extract, the pungent root known for temporarily enhancing the body's physical limits—reaction time, speed, strength.

And covering his body, almost haphazardly, were other relics of various kinds, giving him the eccentric appearance of a nouveau riche merchant from the Central Regions. To anyone else, he might have looked ridiculous.

But to Alice?

It was comforting.

Among all the glittering relics and exotic enhancements, what stood out most was the jet-black dagger in Julies's hand. It pulsed with a dark aura, more threatening than any other weapon he carried. Yet Alice knew—Julies's true strength didn't lie in relics.

It lay in his relentless resolve.

His wild, brilliant unpredictability.

He was, after all, the kind of servant who would dare rob the ducal vault right in front of its heir without batting an eye.

"It's about time you retired, Guardian Spirit!" Julies growled under his breath.

As Alice held the Wampa's attention, Julies struck.

The dagger found its mark—deep into the beast's back, right where Alice had slashed it earlier.

It was a clean, surgical strike.

The blade tore through layers of tough skin and sinew, digging deep into flesh and fat—slashing in the exact opposite direction of the earlier wound, splitting it wide open.

The Wampa howled, its voice no longer filled with fury, but pain.

And panic...

But Julies didn't gave him any more chances.

Immediately he swung his dagger again, more faster than before and more deadly then before.

—SLASH!

The Wampa's arm was severed cleanly at the shoulder, torn away in a geyser of crimson.

The beast staggered, reeling back, a thunderous cry ripping from its throat—echoing across the ancient chamber like a dying storm.

Julies didn't stop.

He moved like a phantom, slipping beneath the monster's flailing movements, his dagger a blur of motion.

Another slash—across the back of the knee.

Another—along the ribs.

Every strike was deliberate, exploiting the very spots Alice had weakened earlier.

The Wampa—Fletz—collapsed to one knee, his breathing ragged, one remaining arm pressed against the wound in his chest. His eyes no longer held rage. Only confusion... and sorrow.

"Alice..." he muttered.

Not a growl.

Not a roar.

A name.

Her name.

Alice lowered her rapier.

The sharp gleam of battle had dulled in her eyes, replaced by something else. Respect, perhaps. Or maybe pity.

"You were strong," she said quietly.

Julies stood beside her now, his dagger still dripping.

"But your time as guardian ends here."

Fletz blinked slowly. His massive form swayed, struggling to remain upright.

Then, in a moment of clarity, his gaze drifted to Valkrath, still embedded in the ground before him.

He reached out with his only remaining arm. His claws barely touched the hilt.

And then—he stopped.

He turned his gaze to Alice one last time.

"...Proven," he whispered.

And fell.

His body collapsed forward, causing a tremor through the floor, sending a gust of displaced air in every direction.

Silence followed.

Julies let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Alice slowly approached the fallen beast and gently pulled Valkrath from the stone floor. The sword felt different in her hands now—not a prize, but a responsibility.

Julies glanced at her.

"So... what now?"

Alice looked at the Wampa's lifeless body, then turned toward the arched exit ahead—beyond which lay the Northern Throne, the one her ancestors once claimed.

"Now?" she said softly.

"We get out of here, I don't want in Underground Vault any longer."